Alright then. It'll take some time to revise though...after all I didn't hand write that part so I'd have to free write it...and that's kinda difficult when you've already set the tone and what not. BUT I SHALL FOR THE BLUEH!!! owo

There was nothing, where there had once been everything... Houses sat empty with their doors ripped right off their hinges and left to lay on the village's streets. Curtains flapped softly in the breeze, their windows smashed to glass smithereens that left them in a shredded, sorry state, and their fabric faded with the rain that had come in through the holes left by the broken panes. Ash lay in soupy puddles on the ground, leaking between the dark, worn red bricks that had lined the streets and pathways... it also coated every building, every piece of furniture, and every decaying garden, turning everything a mournful shade of grey. It was so eerily silent, aside from the faint rumbles of thunder, the flapping of the mangled curtains, and the soft tinkling noise of wind chimes, created by children using materials like mismatched pieces of silverware and colorful bits of glass that looked like they came from a stained window.

Then the wind ceased, and there was no sound for several moments. In the silence, the earth itself seemed to recall what had once stood upon it in this very spot, and it mourned...

Once, the village had been filled to the brim with a lively tribe of people known as the kitsune foxes. The little houses had been modest, lacking electricity, but had been colorful, warm, and welcoming... the walls and roofs had not been stained grey, rather being coated in bright, contrasting colors like light orange and green, or maybe a creamy tan with accents of blue on the roof and around the windows. Personal gardens contained flowers and hardy root vegetables that could withstand both heat and cold, cased in with short walls that now lay in smashed piles of stone and mortar.

Shepherds would lead livestock around to be sold or perhaps just to carry groceries, while small children would chase around the chickens that ran loose or play various traditional games like Nah-Nahi, "No Name," in which one child would give hints about an object they were thinking of and the others would have to guess as to what it was. Their laughs of victory and indignant cries of failure used to ring out in the streets, blending with the sounds of the animals, babies crying, mothers chatting, and elders complaining of stiff legs... The smell of potato dough and roasted vegetables would waft through the streets, encouraging hungry little children to be home in time for supper.

Now the air smelled of nothing but charred wood, rain, and death. However, sound returned to the desolated land. There was another distant roll of thunder, and the nearly drowned-out sound of a whirring engine. A two-wheeled vehicle was making its way towards the village, devouring the plain, muddy dirt road that marked the way through the grassy hills. The vehicle was chunky and almost clumsy-looking for a bike, with chains wrapped around worn-out rubber tires that barely had any tread left on them; most likely the reason for the chains.

A rider sat on the brown leather seat atop the bike, hunched forward with his chest nearly touching the padding beneath him, his feet hooked in contraptions that resembled stirrups on a saddle more than pedals on an automobile. He was a young but mature individual dressed in thick, dark-wash jeans, boots, a plain white t-shirt, and a leather jacket that he left unzipped, the flaps wildly flailing in the turbulence created by the bike's speed.

The man himself was clearly a fox, his fur a bold amber color, touched with tones of dark gold as the sun slowly began to set to his left, vanishing beyond the hills as it slowly traveled westward. His ears and hands showed very dark, nearly black markings against his light fur, while his muzzle and the tip of his fluffy tail had the classic white markings seen on many foxes.

His eyes were the most stunning part of him, though-- deep, sapphire blue, touched with tones of dove grey near his pupils and darkening to a deep navy color at the edges. Despite their beautiful color, his eyes were very hard; they held little expression except for one of near-anger. He kept staring ahead as the demolished village slowly came into view, and with it came the memories of the childhood he had spent there.

"Locke!" A light grey fox kit scampered over to him, her sleeveless, pale yellow tunic flowing a little around her knees as she ran. Her hair was braided and coiled into a knot on the back of her head, though the wispy strands in the front had struggled loose and now hung in the way of her smiling pale blue eyes. "Are you almost finished with your lunch? I want to go to the creek, and Manu will only let me bring Kintane if someone else comes to help watch her."

The golden fox boy hurriedly chewed at his bite of lunch; a lump of potato dough rolled into a ball and filled with spiced, boiled vegetables. He swallowed, then responded, "Yeah, I'll come!" He stuffed the last bit of his food into his mouth, pushing it into his cheek with his tongue, and hurried after the grey kit as she ran off towards her house again.

"Manu! Locke will come! Can we have Kintane now?" She called as she barged into her house, her bare feet pattering on the somewhat lumpy wooden floor.

The door had opened up right into the kitchen and main living space of the small home. A woman sat on the floor, her legs folded beneath her and her arms elbow-deep in a large bowl of whitish mush. She was mixing it rather fiercely with her bare hands, molding the mashed potatoes, flour, salt, and butter together to make the infamous potato dough that kitsune loved so much. When she heard the child hollering, she lifted her head and gave a little smile; she had light grey fur like the kit's, though her eyes were a rich amber with tones of orange, rather than pale blue. "No need to shout, Iriesia. If you two keep a close eye on the baby, she can go with you."

The baby, Kintane, sat on the floor right beside her mother. She was somewhere around three years old, a bit big to still be called a baby, but she was the youngest of the family. Kintane looked very little like either her mother or her sister, with snow white fur and ruby red eyes; she was the only albino kitsune in the village. At the given moment, she was wiping bits of potato dough off the rim of her mother's bowl and slowly eating it off her fingers.

"Yes!" Iriesia cheered, scurrying over to heft the toddler to her feet. "Come on, Kintane! We're going out to play!"

"Be careful!" The woman called as the three children hurried out of the house, with little Kintane clumsily perched on Locke's back for faster transport.

Locke called back with an obedient, "We will!" Running along by his side, Iriesia simply gave a joyous laugh.

The memory ended with the children having an afternoon of splashing around in shallow water, occasionally having to intervene when Kintane tried to wander off or grew frustrated after trying to catch minnows with her bare hands. Locke had only been about five or six years old at the time, while Iriesia was around seven.

Around fifteen years had passed since then, as Locke was now twenty-two years old. He had left the village a few years ago to investigate something that had haunted him throughout his entire childhood; his father. If it was not clear by his name, Locke Lorica, he was not a purebred kitsune villager. His father had been a man from what most people called modern civilization, but what the kitsune people had called "Er'Lasfa," or "Different Home."

Locke had known little about his father for a majority of his life; what he did know was that the man had visited the kitsune village once to study the people and educate others on the tribe. In the time he was there, he had fallen in love with a kitsune woman, who would be Locke's mother. Her name was Mairaure Zizox, a beautiful orange-furred vixen with curly auburn hair and leaf green eyes. She fell for the outsider, and within mere months, the tribe held a marriage ceremony to tie the knot between the village woman and her suitor. The man then had to return to the Er'Lasfa to give his findings to his employer before he moved back to the village... except, he never returned. Mairaure had waited for weeks, but she never saw her husband's face again. Of course, she had already been pregnant with her son, Locke himself, when her husband vanished. She had named Locke after his father, who had also been named Locke Lorica, supposedly because the boy looked exactly like him. Mairaure had raised him quite well on her own, until the day came when Locke decided to go to the Er'Lasfa and search for his father.

He stayed in the Er'Lasfa for years-- particularly, a town by the name of Fairport Harbor, which was located near a large basin that was connected to the sea, something Locke had never seen until then. In that time, Locke had grown a little accustomed to the lifestyle of modern peoples; he ate their food, spoke their language, wore their clothes, and even bought himself his chain-wheeled bike. He acquired a job at a supermarket, earning just enough to maintain himself as he continued on his search. However, the search for one man ended in the search for an entire tribe. Locke had seen it on the news; the destruction of the Felan'Ka villages, unnoticed until the buildings had burned enough to send a pillar of black smoke into the air, visible even by those in Fairport.

That was how he ended up where he was now. The actual burning of the village had taken place over a week ago, but it had taken time for him to both hear of the incident and drive all the way out to check the destruction for himself. Locke was late... far too late to do anything to help.

With a soft purr, his bike slowed, then clicked as he killed the engine. He stepped off his bike, his boots kicking up clouds of the ash that had settled on the ground. He nudged his bike's kickstand with his foot, putting it in place so the chunky vehicle wouldn't fall over and get coated in the damp, grainy grey mush. Then he lifted his head and simply stared at the scene before him... The main road of the village swept clean through the center, mostly straight but still a bit wobbly and wavy due to the somewhat crude architecture of the place. Locke stood on that main road, right where it began at the edge of the village, and took a good long look.

There were no bodies amongst the destruction. They had all been removed by Fairport law enforcement, and were likely being preserved until they could decide on whether to autopsy them or find some surviving villagers to give them to for burial.

Still, as Locke began to walk down the street, he could see where bodies had been laying... Vague silhouettes in the ash, indents where the bodies had lain... Bits of hair and clothes stuck to rubble... Blood spatters... A child's doll, a woman's hair ornament, a man's shoe...

Locke stopped in front of one particular house, so small it only had three rooms. It was his home, the single-bedroom, single-washroom house he had grown up in... and it was in shambles. The door was smashed, half of it laying in wooden shards on the ground and the other half danging from a single intact hinge. Shattered glass crunched under his boots as he carefully stepped through the threshold, while the pale blue curtains his mother had so tediously made herself flapped around in shreds or lay on the floor, the bar that held them in place having been broken in some kind of struggle or madness to cause more destruction.

The furniture was overturned or broken, while week-old food lay rotting on the kitchen floor... The smell assaulted him so harshly that he almost took a step back, raising one hand to his muzzle. He coughed a little, moving further into the house. He peered into the washroom, which wasn't as damaged as the rest of the house, tough the basin had been knocked over and the soaps were scattered everywhere.

Next was the bedroom... Locke pushed aside the curtain that acted as a door, and moved into the room both he and his mother had slept in for his entire life. The beds were destroyed, the covers torn and stained with blood and the straw-and-feather stuffing of the mattresses coating the floor. His favorite ornamental rug was shoved against the eastern wall, beneath the window... rain and ash had ruined it, caking the tattered object in the grey that had managed to seep in through the gap left by the broken window. Bloody footbrints were smeared across the floor, as though someone had either stepped on the broken glass or perhaps right in a puddle of preexisting blood left by a maimed or murdered individual.

Noticing a small item abandoned on the floor, almost hidden beneath the shredded end of one of the mattresses, Locke stepped carefully across the room and knelt down on one knee. He gently pulled the object from the mess of straw and feathers, finding it to be the bracelet he had made for his mother when he was just a child... it was woven from dark grey horsehair and strung with a few handmade wooden beads painted with various shades of red, blue, and green. The bracelet had been snapped, perhaps cut with a blade or just pulled on too hard, and the soft horsehair had little bits of blood crusted onto it.

Locke rose to his feet, holding the bracelet in his palm, but he was no longer looking at it... he stared out of the bedroom window, to the little shed right next to the house. That was where his pony had lived, the very one that he had gotten the hair from to weave the jewelry in his hand. Tutojin, "Mountain Legs," the pony, was gone just like everyone else.

Emotion finally found its way onto Locke's face; his eyebrows pulled down over his eyes, his muzzle forming a sort of grimace as his hand clenched into a fist around the bracelet in his palm. "Amarante, no... Please, no..."

He didn't know who had survived, or where those survivors had ended up... Perhaps taken by the people who had done this? Was his mother alive? What of his best friend, Iriesia, and her little sister, Kintane?

"Where are they...?" He whispered to himself, knowing that not all of them could be dead. The police department hadn't reported enough bodies for the entire tribe to have been killed... "Why did this happen? Who did this?!" He dropped onto the floor, sitting there in the ruins of his home and shouting to the silence, "Amarante, why?! Why do you punish me like this?! Is it because of who my father was, or something he had done? Tell me! Tell me something!"

Shouting at his deity gave him no answers, but did make him wonder if his father or the men he worked for had something to do with this. What more reason would they have to send a man to get information on them, than if they had something to gain from it? We should have known... we should not have been so foolish to let the outsiders in...

Now deep in thought, Locke rose to his feet once more, a bit slowly. I will find out what happened, and I will get them back... They can't all be dead. They can't all be gone.

He turned his head to once again look out of the window, vowing to make the world remember this day.

A survivor census... A good idea, maybe, to people who wanted to find family or be found by them, but not to people who weren't sure if they would rather just be left alone. He was used to loneliness, to letting himself be numb to feelings, just letting himself live in a state of routine and emptiness... mixed with some sarcasm and coldness towards others. Things all started to change a little while ago, when Alpha came into his life. He couldn't believe he had a "boyfriend" now, after all those years of shutting people out... but Alpha just refused to not be let in, and rather than just knocking on the door to his heart and then leaving when he received no answer, he kicked that door in and made himself at home, even starting to push the pale-haired kid around. That was one change he welcomed, but now there was a possibility of facing hat had always been, what he had left behind...

He stood in the hallway that housed the large touch-screen computer, a survivor census. He could search the refuge for people he knew, and then this list would also be sent out to areas neighboring Kolerin. Families would be reunited after the crisis with the Sect thanks to this list. Not that it was what he wanted. His dark gaze was fixed on his own name on the list, his hands tucked in his sweatshirt pockets. "Shamus Warwick."

"But I don't want to go away, Mom..."

The voice of his twelve-year-old self rang out in his head.

"Why do I have to go to school far away? I want to be home when you are... You are coming back home someday, right...?"

No, she wasn't. Shay turned away from the census, starting to walk back down the hallway, towards his new home. The one he shared with someone who did return every night, and who asked if he had eaten dinner, and how his day was... His parents sent him away that day when he was young, and he lost any sort of family when they did. Normally, he would go to school and return home to a house that lacked one parent or the other, both of them being accomplished surgeons who worked many hours and traveled between hospitals, sometimes being half a country away if they had a patient who needed them. But at least they came back sometimes and showed their son a fraction of the care they showed their patients. But all of that went away when he was sent to that school. His parents were getting a divorce, finally unhappy enough with family life to just give up. No more marriage, and no more kid, either... he was going to an expensive year-round school and would rarely actually see either parent on the various holiday vacations. He had been born for the sake of a legacy, and that was it. Now he was going to become a good doctor like his parents, shown knowledge rather than love.

That was just the start of the loneliness. Of course, the shy kid who didn't know what it felt like to be loved didn't make friends fast. Those he did make left him behind quickly because he was so quiet and introverted... it was like he wasn't even there, like it was so easy to glance over him. He didn't sleep well when away from home, either. He was tired. Irritable. Even harder to befriend. After a few years of that, stuck in that damned school, he earned a reputation as a loner, someone to avoid talking to, and he began to act the part for real. He would insult people, give them the cold shoulder, push away anyone who tried to get close to him... He had some "allies," in a sense... people he tolerated during class for the sake of projects and the like, but then would ignore when the bell rang.

"Just ignore him. He acts like that for attention."

Was it just a way to get attention, or a plea for help?

"I saw bandages on his hands the other day. Do you think he started hurting himself...? Creep..."

Oh yes, because hurting himself was definitely just for the sake of creeping out all the other kids his age, not because he felt any anger, or grief, or loneliness, or pain... It was just to unnerve everyone, right?

Shay shook his head, hating the way other teenagers viewed those who were maybe a little lonely, a little depressed, a little neglected... how they turned them into monsters in their head until that was what they became. He fit the role he had been given by others, but never got any help. All he had to do to ward off others was give them a look. Sometimes he regretted behaving that way. Especially those times when he did hurt himself, or thought about just dying so he wouldn't have to go on like that... Somehow he survived himself.

Then the Sect took over, and things got worse. The world went all to hell, and while he was running, trying not to get captured... he was treated as much like an outcast as he had in that stupid school. He was even literally stabbed in the back at one point, left behind so the others could get away while he was captured... well, almost captured. Only his own efforts kept him safe, until he was rescued by some much kinder individuals and eventually brought to this refuge. This was where he had met Alpha.

Only one person in the world truly heard him, after all those years... Who genuinely cared.

"Have you eaten today? Shay, don't give me that look... Eat something. I'll go get something if we don't have anything you want."

"Go to bed. You've been up long enough. I'll lay down with you if you need me to."

"You should really try pills for insomnia... I'm not fond of the idea, either, but they could help you... You need sleep."

"What are you doing up? Go lie down, you have a fever of 102!"

"Hey... You've been quiet. Are you alright?"

Shay stopped walking, standing in front of the door to his apartment. Okay, maybe he hadn't watched his entire family murdered in front of his eyes or anything, but... he had been through a lot. He had a lot on his mind, and struggled with feelings of being alone from a young age. He had been literally stabbed by someone he thought was his ally -- he had a scar to prove it -- and eventually became his own worst enemy. None of that was easy to deal with for someone as emotionally crippled as he was. But Alpha had been there when nobody else was... he took the place of all the people he should have had in his life, including his neglectful parents... He didn't think Alpha would ever truly understand just how much his presence meant to him, especially since he had a hard time saying so.

Letting out a breath and letting the corner of his mouth twitch in the faintest smile, he opened the door to the apartment and stepped inside. "Alpha, I'm home."

"Good. Have you eaten yet today? I think we still have some oranges in the kitchen."

OTP Prompts.Imagine Person A having to go out of town for one weekend but Person B can't stop talking about the Facebook Movie

It was towards the end of the day for The Ronah. Jonah and Roxy were getting close to finishing up cleaning before locking up to go home for the night. Jonah was scrubbing off a cooktop when Roxy came in, phone in hand.

"Hey Jonah?"

"What?"

"Can I share something with you from earlier today?"

The wolf's brow arced a bit and he glanced at her, still scrubbing the dirty cooktop, "What is it, love?"

"Well...I sent you a text early in the morning."

"Yeah,"

"Ya know cause I have to go out of town for one weekend this month. And I was like do you have a preference whether I go this weekend or the next? Your response..." a smile played across her lips and whatever seriousness she had was lost.

Jonah started to chuckle a little bit as his fiance regained her composure.

"This is at about 930 in the morning."-she took a breath "Mother fucking Jesse Eisnburg Jesus Christ fuck babe mother fucking Facebook movie bullshit Jesus can you fuckin believe this shit?"

Jonah started laughing now. Roxy was still smiling and giggling a little bit.

"No punctuation...random capitalizations..."

"Oh gods..." Jonah sighed laughing a little bit still

"So I respond, I have no idea what we're talking about right now..." she paused again, "45 minutes pass...I get a text from you."

Again she took a breath, "God damn created Facebook and fucking lawyers and shit right fuckin Winklevoss Twins god damn rowing the boat fuck yo shit I cant even fuckin believe this shit have you seen this shit I just watched this shit fuck Jesse Eisenburg babe."

Jonah doubled over laughing barely able to contain himself.

"I respond with Jonah you're scaring me. An hour passes. You respond; Motha fuckin Spider-Man Spider-Man you putting in the time fuck putting in the time fuckin building dhit with his bare hands mother fuckin best friend shit Jesse Eisnburg...I'm very tired..."

The wolf was now leaning against the wall laughing still.

"So I go, No problem hun, Ill do most of the work at Ronah's tonight. Your Immediate response, and I shit you not this is like five seconds later. No babe I'll just talk about the Facebook movie all day, shit babe you must be so interested in the shit I have to say about the Facebook movie fuck I just watched it like a year and a half ago man fuck Jesse Eisnburg he fucked over Spider-man crazy Winklevoss twins rowing. Trent Ressen Oar did the soundtrack fuck this guy I hope they like die I cant think of who the fuck invented Facebook all I can think about is the guy who played the guy who invented Facebook who the fuck invented Facebook?"

By now Jonah had slumped to the ground laughing crazy loud.

"And then, while I was driving my phone went off. So I go to get it after I got here...your message, in all capital letters 2 hours later. Mark Zuckerbuck!"

Jonah was now rolling. Roxy smiled a little bit.

"Care to explain?"

"Yeah, you remember I had to take Lance to the Airport right?"

"Yeah."

"So his flight was set to leave at like 630 so I'd been up since about 3 or so. And we get through security and stuff and I look over and I shit you not this kid looked like Jesse Eisnburg so whwn you texted me that was all I could think of."

"But your texts are normally like really well kept."

Jonah stood up dusting himself off, "Yeah cause I was driving so I was like: Hey Google text Roxy but I was like really tired so the talk-to-text not being the best and my stammering voice while driving didnt help."

Aaron's piercing scream cut through the darkness and startled her awake just as she as about to doze off. The young mother groaned, feeling exhausted from her lack of sleep, but she also felt a jolt of worry, and the mother's instinct to coddle her baby overtook her exhaustion.

Delilah pushed back the covers, exposing herself to the cold air of her apartment; her son's crying continued to slice through the air like a sword through flesh. She glanced at the clock as she searched for her slippers; it read 3:28a.m.. Yawning, the cougar, barely heard over her son's cries, shuffled out of her bedroom to Aaron's, murmuring, "Don't worry, I hear you alright..." For a five-month old, he certainly had a pair of lungs! I still can't tell if that's a good thing or a bad thing...

Her apartment now felt foreign to her as she passed through the hallway to her son's room. Pictures on the wall were shrouded in darkness and mystery. Wind groaned against the house, and to Delilah it sounded like a banshee screaming. The woman tried to not let her anxiety take over-- it was only a little wind, is all.

When she entered Aaron's room, the said infant was barely seen in the darkness, what with his dark fur and all. It was nothing like her own: a pale, warm grey that was homey and inviting; instead, it was like a void-like. It reminded her oh so well of the boy's father that left her. Trying to ignore her still festering resentment, she moved over to the crib, and reached inside, pulling out her sweet bundle of joy. The mobile attached made a soft noise when she pulled away.

Aaron's cries were muffled by Delilah's neck as she caressed his head close, and rubbed at his back, "Ssh... it's okay... It's okay... Mama's here..." She started to walk around the apartment, absentmindedly pushing his hair out of his face as she did so.

However, Aaron's crying did not cease, even as she hummed his favourite lullaby. He grabbed fistfuls of his mother's shirt, which had the logo of her old high school printed on the front, and stared at her with wide, terrified eyes as he sobbed. She had never seen him, or any other baby, so scared in her life. "Honey, it's okay... Nothing'll hurt you... It's alright, Aar--"

Suddenly, the entire apartment changed, melting away. The somewhat familiar belongings that were coated a layer of darkness were gone. Delilah felt her breath hitch in her throat as she clutched onto her baby, her motherly instincts kicking in; she had no idea what was happening. W-what is going on?! What she now saw was dark emptiness in all directions. She could barely tell if she was even standing on solid ground, as she felt suspended. The young mother then saw a dark, nearly black shape out of the corner of her eye, and she whirled around abruptly, letting out a cry of fear and confusion. And yet nothing was there.

Aaron was in her arms, not responding, but Delilah didn't notice. She saw another dark figure, and whipped around, but again, there was nothing. Sweat drenched her body, and her heart felt like it was going to break out of her chest and be stabbed by her broken ribcage. She yelled out, terrified for someone to help her, to tell her what was going on. However, none answered to her pleas. Only the dark shapes were there and started to close around her and choke her and hurt her baby oh dear gods they were going to kill hi--

The darkness was gone. Her apartment came back into focus. The cougar found herself on the floor, tears running down her face with Aaron in her arms, thankfully unhurt. Her slippers were gone. A small table was knocked over, and the contents were scattered on the floor, which included a vase that was in a million pieces. The mother let out a shuddering breath, having no idea what in the blazing hell just happened. Trying not to panic, she hefted herself to her feet, bringing her now sleeping infant with her. She stared dumbfounded at her son. Why was he suddenly sleeping now when he was screaming his head off five minutes before...?

"Ms. Versailles!"

"C-coming!" She hurriedly wiped at her face as she stumbled over to her door. Her voice felt scratchy and hoarse, like she was sick. Or screaming. She felt herself shiver as she opened the door, but it was not from the cold, "H-hello...?"

The light temporarily blinded her from the hallway of the apartment complex, and it took her a moment to adjust. And she saw the face of her neighbour; she was a lioness rocking a bedhead, and unruly clothes, "Oh thank the gods, you're okay!" She hugged the cougar, nearly squishing Aaron, "I-I heard you scream... I t-thought someone came to hurt you... I heard something shatter..." The lioness was talking on, still, but Delilah didn't hear anything. She... was screaming? I'm surprised no one else thought someone was murdering me in cold blood...

Finally, Delilah spoke, cutting into the lioness' anxious babbling, "N-no, it's okay... S-something just startled me, is all..." However, she felt herself shaking more, and the lioness grabbed her before she could fall and drop Aaron. Her legs felt like jell-o, and she was pretty sure they tasted like it, too.

"Hun... Come over to my place. Please. I'll make you some tea if you promise to tell me what happened. All of it."

And that's what she did.

---

"Okay, let me get this straight. You went into your son's room because he was crying, right?"

"Yes."

"You go to soothe him, and you walk out of his room with him, but he doesn't stop crying?"

"Y-yes, but I couldn't get a good look at them... A-and then I heard your k-knocking... A-and I found myself on the floor..."

The lioness, Doris, reached out to put a hand on the mother's shoulder, "It's okay, sweetie... All that matters is that you're okay, but... That story seems a little... Far fetched, if you know what I mean. Especially because you're sleep deprived as it is." The bags under the cougar's eyes were imminent.

Delilah stared down at her tea, which she barely touched since it was given to her. Then her eyes shifted over to her son, who was sleeping on Doris' couch, barely stirring, "I-I know, but... I'm a supernatural... I can manipulate memories, but not my own. M-my son's father," she cringed slightly at the reference to him, but kept going, although it left a bad taste in her mouth, "was a mundane. Do... Do you think he could be supernatural, too...?"

"It is possible." Doris sat down across from the cougar at her kitchen table, quiet so she wouldn't wake the baby. "However, I'm no expert in that sort of thing. Usually children start to develop their powers at around five or so... Usually later."

"B-but there's no other explanation for what I saw! I'm not crazy, if you're about to ask that! I know I'm also tired, but i-it wouldn't be that bad, would it...?"

"Hun, I never said you were crazy. But... That is still possible. However, your son is too young to jump to that conclusion yet. Just... See if it happens again. It could be just a one-time fluke, but..." Doris shook her head, though, her bed-headed brown hair shaking. "I highly doubt it."

Delilah looked over to her son again, watching him sleep for a moment. She always felt like he was special, but didn't all mothers feel that for their children? Was it wrong that she suddenly felt like she didn't want him to be special...? To be supernatural like her? She really couldn't hurt people actively with her power, but...

She looked back to Doris, "S-something scared him... I saw it on his face, before the... vision, happened. Do you think... he can see things that others... can't?" A ghost, maybe...? N-no, that's pretty out there. ...Then again, what just happened isn't really normal, either.

"Again, it's possible, but it's also possible that he just got scared because his room was dark, and he maybe heard the wind. It's pretty fierce." As if a response to prove her point, the wind howled against the building; Aaron stirred slightly, his curled fist inching closer to his mouth, but that was all.

"I-I guess..."

Doris suddenly looked very tired and old; she was at least fifty, currently. She now looked past sixty, "Delilah, honey, promise me something. Don't let your boy be corrupted, or hurt because of his 'gift', if that's what he has. Please don't let him hurt others... He's such a sweet boy..." The lioness had a bad feeling about Aaron's future... But she just didn't know what would happen.

Delilah felt something wash over her; she felt like that promise was something she would struggle to keep. However, she spoke calmly to the other woman, knowing that she would try her damnedest to keep it, no matter what, "I promise."

Almost two decades later, she failed to keep her promise.

---

This was something I suddenly came up with while inspired by Doctor Sleep by Stephen King, as well as the fact that the stories page is lacking a little... So yeah.

I know that kids don't start to develop their powers until they're older, but it was kind of a fluke thing that night that sparked Aaron's power, not that he used it much after that until he was about five or so. I might write stuff about that later, but I dunno.

As the years came and went, Delilah had pretty much put that terrifying night behind her. Sometimes, she wondered if it actually happened, late at night before sleep claimed her, but Doris, her older next-door neighbour, was evidence that it had happened. Regardless, Delilah didn't think much about it.

Until Aaron was five years old.

The young mother, now about 24 years old, tried not to shudder and let her anxiety take over as she stood in her small kitchen, preparing lunch. It was a beautiful spring day on a Saturday, as Aaron was not in school, but Delilah was not savouring the view from her kitchen window like she usually did while preparing any meal. Her blood ran cold any time she thought she heard something strange, like a creak of a floorboard, or when she heard Aaron's socked feet running across his room as he played. The mother had to stop and collect herself for a moment, and will her shaking hand to smooth out, before continuing.

It couldn't have been him, right...? He... He said he didn't want anything to do with me anymore when I found out I was pregnant... But... Delilah felt a shiver pass through her again, and she felt like she was going to throw up. I should have waited to get groceries today...

Earlier that day, Delilah and Aaron went to buy groceries for the week. The small boy was surprisingly well-behaved for his age, as he simply gazed around and studied anything interesting that caught his eye. Because of that obliviousness, he didn't catch his mother fumbling with and dropping a loaf of bread on the floor. He missed the way that she gazed, wide-eyed, at a man at the end of the isle. He missed the dark, jet black fur, the broad shoulders, and the height of the cat... Only when that man walked away did Aaron notice Delilah just standing there, and had asked her in a timid voice, "Mama...?"

Aaron's little voice had been enough to snap Delilah to her senses, but she still trembled all over as she thought back to that man... That wasn't Aaron's father, was it...?

"...Mama?"

Delilah, snapped out of her daze once again by Aaron's voice, turned around from the counter to look for her son, "Y-yes, Aaron...?" However, the little boy was nowhere to be found.

A much taller, broad shouldered, sharp-eyed man stood in front of her that looked exactly like Aaron, silent. Delilah felt a scream push its way into her throat, but she was frozen, staring at the man with wide, blue eyes.

This was not the innocent look-alike that the woman saw in the grocery store a few hours ago. The man that stood there was none other than Luke Haskell, calmly, like he lived here. Luke smiled, the contrast between the whiteness of his teeth and the darkness of his fur unmistakeable, "Hello, Delilah."

The woman felt her legs buckle as she stared into his green and yellow eyes; ones that she originally found enticing and beautiful. Now she hated and feared what lurked behind them, as they hid malice, spite, and lust. Breathing hard and heart pounding, she fumbled with shaking hands for her knife, with her back against the counter, "Y-you... H-how...?"

He tsk tsk'd at the young woman, still calm, very much collected, and still smiling that smile that made Delilah's heart flutter in the past. Now she couldn't help but see how sharp his teeth were... "You always knew that I would come back for you eventually, Delilah."

That scream continued to bubble in her throat, but it did not surface yet, although it panicked and struggled. She continued to grope for her knife, her hand shaking so horribly she felt like even if she found it, it would do no good. "N-n-no..."

"Oh, yes, you knew." Luke took a few steps towards her, his boots clacking on her tiled floor. "We can ditch the kid, Delilah, and it'll just be you and me." He stretched his arms open, as if inviting her for a hug. "I still care for you, Delilah. And I want you back, just like the good old days. You remember them, don't you?"

"S-stop it! I don't c-care about you anymore! L-leave me alone!" More groping. Delilah knocked a bowl into the sink, spilling the vegetables that she just prepared.

Luke let out a laugh, apparently finding his ex-girlfriend's pathetic nature amusing, at least that's what Delilah thought. However, the man held up something in his hand; her knife, still covered in vegetable bits that she had been preparing, "Lookin' for something, darlin'?"

Delilah felt her heart skip a beat, maybe even two or three. Aaron's look-alike approached her some more, the knife still wielded in his hand as he grabbed her and pulled her away from the counter and to his body. Delilah struggled, now managing a few panicked screams, but Luke clamped a hand over her mouth quickly, before softening and stroking her cheek with his thumb, leaning close to her ear from behind. He crooned gently, nearly purring in her ear, "Now, now, no need to scream... All we have to do is leave without the little brat and we'll both be happy, darlin'... I promise you that." However, the knife was still hovering near her left breast, and she felt his hot breath crawling down her neck.

Delilah simply whimpered, tears streaming down her face, and continued to struggle, trying to lash out at the man, but his bigger arms trapped her. "Don't be like that..." He now sounded a little more forceful, and pulled her along with him as he made for the door, "Darlin', relax... I got everything figured out. You won't have to worry about anyth--!" And then suddenly Luke was screaming as Delilah managed to bite down on his hand as hard as she could. The woman tumbled out of her ex-boyfriend's arms, falling to the floor when her legs gave out.

"YOU FUCKING BITCH!" Luke's sweet-talking was long gone as he forcibly pulled Delilah from the floor and slammed her against the wall. The woman felt all the air escape from her, and coughed, unable to breathe, let alone scream her head off for help. She was staring at him with wide, terrified eyes, and then they shifted from his twisted face to the knife in his hand. It was rising, rising, gleaming in the light... "Alright, you cunt, let's make this quick, shall we? You agree to leave with me, and I'll forget this ever happened, or this knife'll find a brand-new home lodged into your stomach for the brat to see, capishe?"

"N-never!" Delilah clawed at Luke's hand pinning her to the wall, managing to yell, "Go fuck yourself!" She couldn't leave Aaron, no matter what. She just couldn't!

Luke grinned, his yellow and green eyes filled with lunacy, then laughed, "I wonder what the little shit'll think when he sees his bitch of a mother bleeding to death on the floor!" Before Delilah could do anything, a terrible, blinding pain ripped through her abdomen as her stomach was literally ripped open. Luke let her go, still cackling, and she crumbled, curled up in a pool of her own blood. She coughed, blood spilling from her mouth, as she watched Luke stand over, staring back with insane glee on his face, "I bet you're fucking regretting that now, aren't you?! AREN'T YOU?!"

Delilah tried to speak, but she only made pathetic gurgling noises instead as she was dying on the floor. Her heavy eyes slipped closed, the wound on her abdomen still pumping blood. She felt her mind wander to her only son and absolute joy in this world, Aaron... What would he do...? How could he see his only parent dying on the floor to the father that hated him and that he never knew...? Who would take care of him...? What would--

"--MAMA!"

Delilah's eyes flew open. The pain was gone. She was lying on the floor, barely moving or breathing. Someone was shaking her, babbling and crying. What... What happened...? I-I don't--! She suddenly panicked when her vision cleared and saw that it was Luke, and she let out a small scream, but the black shape in her vision didn't exactly look like him...

"Mama!" Aaron sobbed, practically throwing himself onto his dazed and scared mother, "Mama...!" He clutched onto her for dear life, his hands grabbing fistfuls of her shirt.

"Aaron...!" The mother struggled to sit up, still confused and dazed; when she did, she noticed that she wet herself with whatever the hell that just was, "H-honey... I-It's okay..."

"N-no, it's not!" The small panther hiccuped, his face pressed against his mother's chest as he trembled, "I-I wanted to share my friend with you, b-but y-you got scared and fell on the ground! And you were yelling at him!"

Delilah blinked, trying to make sense of what happened with her son's five year-old explanation, "Y-your friend...?"

That was when Delilah thought back to all those years ago... When Aaron was only about five months old, and those... things that were after Aaron. She rubbed at the said boy's back, trying to comfort him about 'his imaginary friend', but... How could she tell her son that he somehow conjured up his father-- that he never even seen before-- to try and kill her?!

Or... Was it her own mind playing tricks on her?

As Aaron was starting to calm down, Delilah asked, keeping her voice as steady and light as possible, "H-how do you call your friend...?"

"W-well... I just think real hard about him, and he appears! I d-did the same thing for you, b-but... It didn't work." Aaron replied, looking up at his mother with wide, dewy eyes, and a small, trembling lip, "A-am I in trouble...?"

"N-no, sweetie, of course not.... Y-you just can't... Summon your friend like that for someone else without them knowing, a-alright...?"

"O-okay, mama..."

"Alright..." Delilah managed a shaky smile, then managed to pull herself to her feet, even though it was awkward with the pee stain in her crotch, "Y-you go play w-while I get changed, then finish with lunch, okay...?"

"Okay!" The little boy gave his mother a hug before scurrying off, now back to the obliviousness that accompanied a five year-old as he played and talked with that 'imaginary friend' he spoke of before.

Delilah forced herself to shuffle down the hallway, clutching the wall for support, before entering to her room with shaky legs. Just what does Aaron have...? T-that wasn't a fluke the second time... However, by the time she closed her bedroom door behind her, she felt the tears coming, and she collapsed, sliding down her door with her head in her hands. Tears slid down her cheeks as the whole thing replayed itself in her head as she tried to wrap her mind around it. However, she just felt overwhelmed, anxious and absolutely terrified, as it seemed so real... The mother eventually found herself keeling over and promptly throwing up on the carpet in her bedroom until her stomach was empty; she was left coughing and gasping.

Delilah stumbled to her feet and forced herself to move to the phone in her bedroom, tasting bile in her throat. With shaking hands, she dialled one number she knew off by heart, "D-D-Doris... Y-yeah, i-i-it's me... I-I'm...n-not okay... It... It happened again."